


Running Out of Time

by Dancing_Adrift



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apathy, Brief Disrespect of Police, Episode Tag, Gen, Missing Scene, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift/pseuds/Dancing_Adrift
Summary: Episode tag for episode 12.01 ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’. Cas is on a mission to get back to the bunker and find out what happened to Sam, but he keeps hitting roadblocks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be humor, but it turned out kind of angsty?
> 
> This is the result of my musings on Cas' current angel-power status. Like, he can still knock people unconscious with a touch of his fingers, but he had to steal a truck to get around? I think I'm beginning to work it out (wings too damaged, grace doing okay though), but it doesn't matter for this, lol. Hope you enjoy this little drabble.
> 
> (Thanks to [MamaWithGloriousPurpose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaWithGloriousPurpose/pseuds/MamaWithGloriousPurpose) for the alpha read. I had to make some changes - oh, you mean Cas crashed back to Earth at *night*? _shit_ -, so anything that sounds out of place is my bad.)

Cas felt a tiny twinge of guilt for leaving the man - a farmer, if the smell in his truck was any indication - unconscious in the field back there, but the emotion was fleeting, quickly eclipsed by the desperate need to get back to the bunker immediately.

As his thoughts turned again to Sam - and the mysterious woman who was clearly a threat to him -, Cas pressed his foot further down on the pedal, the overwhelming panic rising in his throat, urging him to push the limits of the rickety old truck. The dirt roads were infuriatingly barren, and as he continued to drive by nothing but acres upon acres of corn, he began to truly regret that he’d not gotten more information from the farmer before he’d knocked him out.

Finally _finally_ Cas came across a field where a farmer was out late, harvesting the ripened corn in a massive combine with high-powered headlights that cut into the night. Cas hit the brakes, kicking up dust as he hastily pulled to the side of the road. As quickly as his battered vessel would allow, Cas exited the cab and scrambled through the stalks towards the cleared area of field. He waved his arms wildly, anxious to catch the farmer’s attention. Thankfully it did not take long, and soon the farmer was stepping down from the belly of the John Deere, silhouetted in the beams of light, and cocking his head in question at his interloper.

“Can I help you?” he shouted over the thrum of his machine.

“Yes.” Cas moved closer - the roar of the engine made conversing difficult - and the man took a hesitant step back.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he grumbled, almost to himself. Humans were so confusing - either they seemed to trust blindly, or they trusted nothing, even when there was no danger present. He still paused before he got too close to the wary farmer, resigning himself to the hope that his hearing wasn’t much damaged from his most recent fall.

“Are ya lost or somethin’?” the farmer asked, glancing around and catching sight of the rusty truck, barely visible in the moonlight at the side of the road.

“Yes!” Cas felt a wave of relief - finally he was getting somewhere! “Can you tell me which direction I need to take to reach Lebanon?”

“ _Lebanon_?” The man chortled. “Son, you really are lost. Lebanon is near three hours away!”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas growled, his patience already very short. “I am aware. Can you _please_ just tell me which direction it is.”

The farmer glanced over at the road again.

“That your truck?”

Cas nodded curtly, ignoring the tiny swoop of guilt at the lie. His mind flashed briefly to the truck’s owner and his awed, innocent questioning that had already caused him so much unnecessary delay. A small lie was worth the transgression if it saved him any amount of time and got him back to the bunker quicker.

“Well,” the farmer continued, “You’re already pointed in the right direction. Jus’ keep headin’ down this road about another ten miles and you’ll hit town. Should be signs for the freeway there.”

Cas nodded again, grateful for the simply given instructions.

The man leaned forward, turned toward and assessing the truck again, and his shoulders tensed slightly with recognition.

“You _sure_ that’s your truck? I could’a _swore_ Timmy Johnson’s got a truck jus’ like it…”

The man turned back to Cas, about to voice his suspicions further, but Cas had wasted enough time. He raised his hand and tapped the man’s forehead, sending him into an instant deep sleep. The man dropped heavily to the ground with a _thump_. Cas rolled his eyes and, taking pity on the man who had at least initially been of help to him, grabbed the farmer by the shoulders and dragged him back toward the side of his machine, dumping his unconscious body just by the steps to get into the cab. Satisfied that the man would be safe there, Cas dashed to the truck and sent the engine roaring back to life, speeding off into the night.

\---

After years and years of observing the Winchesters and sometimes joining them on their cross-country journeys, Cas had learned that a cardinal rule of any successful road trip was to make sure that there was always plentiful gas in the tank. So when he reached the town the farmer had described less than ten minutes later, he checked the gauge and stopped at the small 24-hour, self-service station there before getting on the freeway to Lebanon.

Another trick he’d learned from the Winchesters? When you’re low on funds, you can almost always get away with filling up and leaving without paying - as long as you drive away fast enough. Cas was _almost_ successful.

He’d made it about five miles out of town, going a good thirty miles over the speed limit, when he saw the lights flashing in the truck’s rearview. Seeing as he was obviously in a hurry, he at first decided to just ignore the cop, figuring that they might give up the chase if he refused to pull over for long enough.

Another five miles and the police car was _still_ on his tail, so Cas gave in and pulled over. After all, he couldn’t very well risk leading the officer all the way to the bunker - that would just add more confusion and problems to an already confusing and problematic situation. So Cas put the truck in Park and did his best to stay calm, rolling his eyes to the heavens and praying for patience - an old habit -, but he ended up just staring at the water-stained ceiling of the cab as he waited for the officer.

Far too many stretched-out moments later (one-hundred and fifty-three, to be exact. Cas counted every one), there was a tap at Cas’ window. He quickly rolled it down and gave the middle-aged sheriff a strained smile.

“Good evening, officer.”

“Sir, I have you not only for speeding, but also fuel theft, car theft, and evading an officer of the law. Don’t patronize me with your _‘good evening’_ bullshit.” The officer fixed Cas with a nasty, accusing look and snorted lightly. “I suppose it’s too much to ask that you might have a license and registration.”

For a moment, Cas was tempted to just pull out the F.B.I. badge that he’d started to always keep in the front pocket of his trench coat. But, really. His first best friend had just sacrificed himself - _again_ , but this time forever - to save the world… and his brother, Cas’s other best friend, was now very possibly in danger that could lead to his demise as well. Cas had just had _enough_.

“Well, officer, you’d be correct about that.” Cas didn’t even try to keep the condescension out of his voice. He’d shut off the truck when he’d pulled over, but now he leaned forward, turning the key and starting the ignition once again. From the corner of his eye, Cas saw the officer shift to grab his gun from his holster, and he turned to him with an unconcerned glance, lifting one eyebrow and frowning in annoyance.

“Please don’t,” Cas said with quiet steel in his voice; the man stilled with one hand at his hip, hovering over the sidearm. “While I may be woefully subject to the laws of physics, specifically gravity, with my wings damaged, I am _not_ required to acquiesce to your human laws. I am going to leave now to save my friend; I suggest you do not follow me.”

The officer stuttered for a split second, then moved to continue retrieving his gun while taking a step back.

“Put your hands up!” he shouted, fully unsheathing the weapon and pointing it at Cas. In the flash of a second, Cas did exactly as he’d commanded… except he stretched his left hand to the man’s forehead, rendering him unconscious with a touch of his grace.

No longer taking the time to care about anything other than his mission to find and help Sam, Cas peeled away from the shoulder, leaving the body of the cop covered in dust at the side of the road. Surely someone would see the flashing lights and stop by to awaken him soon. But it was no matter now. Cas pressed his foot as far as the pedal would go, following the signs directing him to Lebanon. He just prayed - again; old habits were so tough to break - that he would not be too late, and that he would be able to save his only remaining friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as always for reading! Now, back to all the other fic I'm supposed to be working on instead... *shakes fist at fantastic new episodes that make her think too much* *but not really* ♥♥♥


End file.
